The Man from Another Land
by The Beardy One
Summary: AU to Catching Fire. Katniss Everdeen finds a man who claims to be from another country, not Panem. Why is he here? What is his purpose? How will he affect events to come? First Fanfiction, Katniss and OC friendship, may change rating
1. Chapter 1

**First Fanfiction, creative criticism welcome. **

**Regulation Disclaimers: I am not, nor never will be Suzanne Collins. All Characters and Places from the Hunger Games series are hers. **

**Hope you enjoy. **

The Man from Another Land

The Forest is silent and still.

That's good.

Weak autumn light breaks through the waving branches of orange or bronze leaves, casting sparkling rays that can only be seen from a fair distance below them.

They remind me of my current situation with President Snow; how safety is in reach, you could see it, touch it, smell it, and feel it. But, however hard you try, however close you get, it is always intangible, untouchable, and too distant.

I return to my chores, hoping it will take my mind off the Capitol's grasp on my life. On everyone's life. It's a hard task when the Victory Tour is coming all too quickly.

Gale's snare work perfectly, despite having to be constantly reset by my own, rather cold and stupid, fingers. But I won't let the temperature drop affect my performance. It hasn't in all those years I had to feed my family.

Walk. Find. Release. Reset. Repeat.

A comfort reveals itself as I while away my time freeing game, giving me time to think about the sweet days before Gale began working in the mines, before the Hunger Games. Before Snow came to visit.

Before the complications of my relationships with Gale and Peeta.

This is what I think of now? The President has promised to punish my family, the few friends I have, _and_ Haymitch. Why am I pre-occupied with just two of them?

I need someone to talk to. Someone who isn't and can't be biased. There goes Haymitch.

Prim is probably too young, despite the maturity she's gained in the past year. And if I explained about my problem, I'd have to go into the details of Snow's visit. She would only worry.

Cinna briefly crosses my mind as well, but he is far away in the Capitol. And he never actually gave me a number a call, although the line would likely be tapped anyway.

I still don't trust my mother enough to tell her about my issues. She'll probably react just as Prim would.

So that leaves me with the dead animals in my game bag, and they don't seem to be paying attention.

Slinging a rabbit in with the rest of them, I reset and then move onto the next trap. I realise that it will be the last on my round. That's good; my fingers are starting to go numb.

But at my final stop, something is out of place. Quite literally, as the entire snare has pulled apart and left scattered up the path that leads past another gap in the fence of District 12.

I am instantly wary, and a tad annoyed.

This is my sanctuary someone has waltzed into, where my thoughts are my own and not just a reason for execution. And the food they have stolen has been caught for the Hawthorne Family, as a deterrent of hunger and a bargaining chip in the Hob. True, the food parcels only last so long, and the people still starve. But there is an unspoken law amongst the same people that trapped game is the property of the hunters. So someone has completely disregarded District etiquette, ruined a perfectly good snare and buggered off with another man's food.

I'm not sure why I feel so strongly when there is probably enough meat for Gale's family already, but my frustration is getting the better of me. I take off down the path with an arrow ready in my bow.

It is truly easy to follow the offender, as they have left parts of the snare all up the path, not to mention the disturbed leaves and snow littered in their wake. Whoever they are, they aren't experienced woodsmen.

Although the further down the path I get, the thicker the trees become, the less the leaves are disturbed and the footprints deepen considerably. My fingers twitch uneasily. Every fibre of my being is telling me something is wrong, but is equally urging me on to find the culprit.

I finally see him after maybe five minutes of tracking. He's just a few metres up the path and carrying a wild turkey.

He doesn't look too dangerous. He's limping, quite badly, on his left foot. Although it may be worsened by the fact the canvas bag he carries on the same side is rather heavy, if size and bulk is anything to go by.

On the opposite side hangs an elongated knife, far larger than those I use to skin a kill or to cut the meat. It must be sharper as the scabbard looks very thick at the tip.

His hair is long and filthy, matted with sweat, dirt and blood. But it is dark, just like people from the Seam. On the other hand; his skin is burnt red by the sun and most likely pale naturally. He must have been out here for days, and probably in the desert surrounding the ruins of District Thirteen for his skin to burnt.

As I study him, a loud snap emanates from beneath my feet and I realise I have trodden on an uncharacteristically dry stick. Its very presence is odd when I think of all the snow surrounding it. That's when I realise the thief has stopped moving. He must have put it there to let him know if someone, like me, was following. That would explain the other dry sticks I see in his jacket pocket as he turns around.

As he swings round on his good leg to face me, the knife is pulled from it scabbard and rises to above his head. The bad leg doesn't seem to get in his way as he charges towards me.

And now, of all times, I freeze and study him properly. His leg isn't his only injury: his face is covered in bruises, notably the left side of his forehead and the accompanying cheekbone. Cuts have also been etched onto his skin, some down the opposite side of his head and others on his bare forearms. They range from shallow scratches to a deep wound on his right arm, which I can see because of the makeshift bandage (probably his right shirt sleeve, which is missing) that is a dark crimson. It's a wonder he can still lift his weapon.

There is a smear of dried blood running from one of his nostrils right the way down his neck. This is covered up by the thick bristles that defiantly show the cracked lips.

He is tall and thickly built, though less so than Cato or Thresh, but still capable of serious damage. However, his clothes show he is more civilised than the former. For some odd reason, he's rolled up his camouflage jacket's sleeves, despite the cold weather. The shirt is an outrageous violet colour that can still be seen under the stains and its tattered condition, protected from view, though only slightly, by a beige waistcoat. That garment has somehow avoided dirt and damage. His trousers, which probably used to match the waistcoat in colour, were caked in mud up to the knees, and sodden at the hem of the trouser legs. I couldn't see his shoes, but taking his current condition into account I wouldn't be too surprised if they were missing. There was a necktie around his head to keep his hair out of his eyes.

But it is his eyes that mark him as a person similar to me. Behind the green and blue is fear and hunger. He must have been wandering for days.

So when I fire my arrow, I aim for his leg. Just to cut it, so he will stop.

He falls clumsily, but with no cry of pain or discomfort. It's safe to say he's not from the Capitol.

I run forward, stopping only to kick his knife away, only in case he still feels threatened. To show I mean no real harm, despite having fired at him, I throw down my bow and quiver next to it.

"I'm going to help you. Do you understand me?" I say in the most gentle voice I can muster as I kneel down beside him.

In response, he just wheezes and nods his head tiredly. I take that as confirmation.

I bite my lip before trying to garner more trust.

"My name is Katniss Everdeen. I live in District Twelve." The words seem to form themselves. "What's your name? Where do you come from?"

He suddenly sits up, coughing. Then he spits out the mucus that has been clogging his throat. What a lovely introduction.

"My name is Omega." He splutters with an accent unlike any in Panem. "And I come from a land called Braytaan."


	2. Chapter 2

**First Fanfiction, creative criticism welcome.**

**Perhaps should have explained some inconsistencies in the last chapter. Here, President Snow visits Katniss maybe a month before the Victory Tour, but all other events before that remain the same as depicted in the Hunger Games and may be presumed to be so in the next two books unless mentioned in this story. **

**Enjoy.**

**This Chapter takes place from Omega's (The man who stole the turkey) Point of View.**

She, Katniss Everdeen, drags me down the dirt road.

The night air is cold, freezing, and my breath leaves me in great clouds similar to those that left the bodies of the people I came to this country with. The poor souls. Called to help and then killed.

I try to keep up with her, but the combination of days of walking with little sustenance, my leg injury that is probably infected by now, and the fact she shot me in the same limb are inhibiting my ability to stand. Honestly, I am amazed she has helped me this far, especially since I come from a country she most likely has never heard of. Then again, she may just be taking me to those who shot my comrades. Either way, this is my best chance of finding out exactly what this place is like.

We pass through the dirty town into a much cleaner and well-kept collection of large houses. Only three of them have lights in the windows. I peer through the windows as she half-pulls me past them. One has very damp lighting, litter all over the floor and a man wandering around drunkenly. The other; much more civilised as I spy a canvas and easel in the front room.

But we move to the last house, which looks much cosier than the previous too. The same size, yes. It was just the feeling as one looked at it that gave you a family impression. That and the young girl who runs out to meet us.

"Prim!" Katniss calls. "This man needs help!"

When did I become a matter of urgency? Then I realise how much I'm supporting myself, or lack thereof. And the fact my breath is leaving me more quickly than earlier. Knew the cut as infected. I've somehow made it to the ground as an older woman and two young men also come hurrying out.

The rest is replaced with black.

The next thing I realise is I'm in a kitchen. How long was I out? Long enough to have a fresh set of bandages covering my major wounds. And I'm in pyjamas. Good lord.

I rise slowly, applying weight to my legs gently as I stand. My left foot is less painful to stand on now, and I lift my trouser leg to inspect it. There's a stitch running up my shin. Rolling up my right sleeve, I also find the deep cut covered by a makeshift purple bandage has been replaced by white cotton gauze. Running my fingers lightly over it, I feel the outline of more stitches. It feels good to be back in one piece.

Steadying myself on the walls and counters, I exercise my body and test my injured limbs. The medical training back home tells me not to put too much pressure on my left foot. I'm surprised common sense hasn't kicked in again yet. Thankfully someone kind has helpfully placed a cane by the table I was resting on.

Then I see the meal that has been laid out for me. Rabbit and salad, a glass of water. Yet there is no one around. This house is empty, devoid of people apart from myself. I'm grateful for this, as I should probably get my story straight before Katniss and what I guess is her family come back.

I eat my meal in silence. What else would I do when no one is around?

The rabbit is cold, but not too bad. It's a meat I've never tried before. In Braytaan they are nothing but pests, and the occasional pets. But when life gives you lemons…

My plate is soon spotless. I haven't had a proper meal in about a fortnight, just the nutritional supplements in the standard survival pack.

My pack!

I search the kitchen from head to toe, and I find it next to the cooker. Everything still seems to be in there: dried fruit, dried meat, the thing that heals scratches, scars and some cuts (I wish I learnt the name), handheld radio, cards, a razor, flares, knives, a sleeping bag, a pistol and a few pieces of broken machinery that I managed to salvage from my arrival. The blade I was carrying is missing, but it's fair to presume they took it off me. Shame they didn't look through the satchel.

The instructions of my mission are missing, but then I remember what I did with them. I ate the paper after committing the words to memory. It added a variety to what I had to eat.

Satisfied my possessions are safe; my next objective is to find Katniss, my saviour. This is her house, so it's a good start. Is she asleep upstairs or is she watching me at this moment? I'd say the latter is more likely, given she's a hunter who has just helped a stranger.

Sure enough, when I walk through to what could only be her living room; I see her sitting on the sofa with my knife. She's eyeing me suspiciously

"Good evening!" I say genially, moving forward to shake her hand.

Katniss just looks at me like I'm a plague. I don't mind, plenty have done that before, and without reason.

"Who are you?" She asks calmly.

"Didn't I tell you this?" I respond; puzzled over the change in the girl who shot my leg.

She looks up at me, and recites everything she knows about me.

"You say your name is Omega, and that you come from a land called Braytaan." She pauses. "That's all I know."

"That's all some people get to know." I comment, having been told to never let any major information about myself become known.

She ignores my statement, and goes on.

"There isn't a place called Braytaan, it isn't part of Panem." She thinks aloud. Katniss Everdeen, who saved me from the forest, is observant but outstandingly clueless.

"What if there is a place beyond Panem, across the raging seas and it too is filled with people?" I question, hoping to enlighten her to my home. It's the very least I can do. "What if there is a country that also survived war and disaster after disaster, that hung on with what little it had left? And what if the people who lived through the end of civilisation rebuilt it, to better itself for future generations?"

Katniss spends a while mulling it over, letting the idea slip into her mind and take root. My home across the oceans was once a great place, long ago before technology became commonplace.

"Why are you here?" She asks suddenly. "Why come to Panem?"

"Because it was here." I say simply. My true motives are of no concern now, and it is not a full lie. "I believe it is my turn to ask a question."

She looks at me expectantly, not the reaction I was expecting. Most people don't like to meet my eye, but they all know what I did back home. No one in this country does.

"Where is the shower?" I indicate my hair and face. While patched up, I am still filthy and if I feel rude standing here like this. I also thought it would lighten the moment.

The first smile I have seen in a long time breaks out on Katniss' face. It may only be there for the briefest of seconds, but it was there.

"Up the stairs, third door on your right." She tells me, and gets up to leave before adding: "And it's morning, by the way."

"Is it now?" I inquire quizzically, before making my way up the stairs onto a pretty sizable landing.

I come back down a half-hour later feeling much more human. A fortnights worth of grime and muck has been washed down the drain, rather worryingly with more hair than I expected.

Limping proudly back into the kitchen, I dig out my razor from my pack and turn back towards the stairs to find the blonde girl from last night staring at me.

"Hello" I say, slightly startled by her sudden appearance.

"Hello." She says back. Like Katniss, she's happy to stare into my eyes. After all this time, it actually scares me a little.

There's an awkward silence. I'm slightly uncomfortable with children, especially those who have an indistinguishable age. Is she nine? No, too tall. Eleven? Her eyes have seen too much. Thirteen? Maybe.

"How's your leg?" She asks suddenly, moving her gaze to my shin.

"Very well, thank you." Is my immediate response, glad someone said something. "Did your mother do the stitching?"

"Yes. I haven't got the hang of that yet." The girl returns to looking at my face.

Another pause. Is there still a bit of blood or mud on me?

"My name is Prim." She introduces herself politely. "What's yours?"

For the second time this week, I give my name. I feel popular.

"Omega. Or the man, as Katniss called me when you came to help." I say, only straying slightly from the standard answer.

Prim looks me up and down properly, as if seeing everything that I am in my current state. She must be Katniss' sister, if only by the way she observes my personality. Makes me wish my sister was still around to compare habits with.

"That's a very odd name." She notes. "What does it mean?"

"What does your name mean?" I respond, rather rudely and maybe a tad defensive. For a moment I think I've frightened her, but she just stands there, waiting.

"It's short for Primrose, a flower that my parents grew before I was born." Prim doesn't seem to be fazed by a difficult person. She waits again, ready to hear my answer.

"Omega is…" I falter, wondering whether to tell a lie. But nature beats nurture yet again. "Omega is the last letter of the Greek alphabet, the Greeks being an ancient civilisation from the land of Greece on the other side of the world. Lasted a fair while, but we didn't anything left of them."

I mentally curse myself. I shouldn't have said anything about the fate of Greece.

In response, Prim just nods her head. Maybe she knew about Greeks, but the lack of knowledge on its alphabet would suggest otherwise. Their letters come up often in my line of work.

"Here." I show her my razor, pointing to the handle where the familiar arch shape has been engraved. "So it doesn't get lost."

We once again fall into silence, as Prim studies the letter intently. The wonder in her eyes at something apparently alien in the land of Panem, it makes me wonder how things work in this country that I am stranded in. She follows the simple loop with her finger, before she snaps back into reality.

"I'm going to be late for school." She realizes, before handing my razor back to me and racing off to find last minute supplies.

I now notice how much lighter it is. The sky has gone from clouded black to a dull grey which does nothing to compliment the snow, which seems to be covered in coal dust in the town. Maybe there's a mine here.

"I recommend rest for the next week."

I turn back to Prim, who is quickly pulling on thick, warm and, by the looks of it, new boots.

"Are you my doctor?" I ask, surprised by the change in character, another trait shared between sisters.

"Mother is." She answers. "But she wanted me to tell you that. She's gone to the market, and says she'll be back mid-afternoon."

"And what do I do for company in the meantime?" I question, as after a fortnight of wandering alone I crave human conversation. The squirrels were annoying.

"Katniss is in the woods, hunting. She won't be back until early evening." Prim tells me. "You could visit Haymitch, our neighbour, but he's drunk most of the time and isn't keen on strangers with funny voices."

I feel insulted, it's my accent. Besides, their voices have weirder inflections.

"Maybe you could see Peeta. He lives next door." She continues, checking her school satchel. "He'll be painting, so could use some company."

And with that, she's out the door. It strikes me as odd that she doesn't seem to fear strangers, although with a mother who must be a medical professional of some sort, she may just have picked up a friendly bedside manner or encountered enough people to know how to handle them.

But now I'm all alone, again. I'm not too sure on what to do with myself, as a patient or an uninvited houseguest. After shaving, I sit in the kitchen for a few hours adjusting my radio, then I make a card pyramid, wash my dishes from earlier and find a thick coat hanging next to the front door. Finally, I decide to kill some time by visiting Painting Peeta.

**Hopefully I'll have the next chapter up sometime in the next week, or I may take the story off and repost it later (after some changes).**


	3. Chapter 3

**Finally here's Chapter Three, this time taking place in Katniss' POV.**

**Sorry it's been a while, but this was a hard one to write and there's been a lot going on. I'll spare you the details and get on with the story.**

**Although, I'd just like to add that after spending nearly half an hour trying to open the page, I read my first review and also stumbled upon how to find the number of people visiting my story. So I would like to thank 'Laugh While Crying' for two things: The Review, and, inadvertently, making me learn how to work my account. **

'_What if there is a place beyond Panem, across the raging seas and it too is filled with people?'_

There can't be another land, another civilization. It's just too impossible. If a place like that did exist, wouldn't the Capitol have tried to claim it years ago?

But then again; the Capitol is filled with people who don't care about the deaths of children or the starvation of the outlying Districts, so is it really likely they would try to conquer a land that rebuilt itself and could easily be more advanced than us? _Them_, I correct myself. Could easily be more advanced than _them_.

A thought hits me: What if Omega really is a Capitol agent? Maybe he's just acting like he's from another country and has fabricated the entire story so he can spy on me?

No. That's unlikely. I wouldn't put it past Snow to do something like that, but he is far more direct and obviously already has enough ways to keep an eye on me without creating such a ludicrous back-story. He managed to find out about my kiss with Gale when there certainly wasn't a foreigner around.

That reminds me, I have to keep Omega hidden. While it's almost a certainty he's not reporting to Snow, that doesn't someone hasn't seen us and done so. Hopefully no one did see him, that was the entire point of waiting until night to bring him into Twelve.

My thoughts are elsewhere today, as is reflected in my hunting. After missing three rabbits, I decide to head down to the Hob with only squirrels. I may not need to trade game there anymore, but old habits die hard and I enjoy Greasy Sae's company. Maybe I'll swap a few squirrels for some bread with Peeta's father for old times' sake.

The familiar noise of trade in the Hob is the first thing that greets me as I reach the old coal warehouse on the edge of the Seam. People shuffle in and around the various stalls set up over the years, trying to change old clothes for fresh meat or a set of worn false teeth for a few candles. The room is filled with familiar faces, some of whom I have only spoken to since I returned from the Games and who raised money for helpful items during them. Apparently they managed to scrape enough together for the soup I fed Peeta while he was suffering from fever. _Peeta_.

I haven't spoken to him since we got to the Train Station, after we finished with the star-crossed lovers act which I had only just found out was genuine. And it's been since that time I've been questioning my own feelings. It doesn't help that the Victory Tour is two days away, and either we have to resolve our own troubles in that time or we continue with an act I worry is ruining our relationship.

Maybe I should visit him later. He obviously wants to talk, since he was waiting for me at my house when I brought in Omega. According to Prim, he had been having quite a long 'staring contest' with Gale. I'd hate to be witness to the elephant in that room. Why did they have to visit at the same time? Sure, Gale was worried about me, and probably his food as well. And Peeta wanted to mend things. But it's apparent that the odds will never be in my favour.

"Hello there beautiful."

My thoughts are interrupted as Darius, everyone's favourite red haired Peacekeeper, sneaks up beside me. I smile as I know this really is a joke. Ever since new year's a while back, when he played with a lock of my hair and amused Gale and I by trying to get a kiss. It's hard not to like him.

"Bugger off." I say jokingly, turning to face him properly.

"Haven't seen you down here in a while. Been busy with fashion designing?" He asks, in his light, laughing way. He's one of the few people who know how I don't have a Talent, and that I've been taking credit for Cinna's work.

"Always." I reply sarcastically. "But I was lonely up in that house on my own, so I thought I'd find funny looking people like you to entertain me."

His smile grows wider as he laughs, and chokes out his response: "But you live next to Haymitch Abernathy, don't you?"

His laugh is infectious, and I need to joke around. Snow can be pushed out of my mind for at least half an hour, can't he?

But another thought crosses my mind as Snow disappears from my head. Something Darius could actually enlighten me on.

"Hey Darius. I don't suppose you've ever heard of a place called Braytaan?" I ask quietly, not wanting anyone else to hear us.

He leans in to listen, and seems puzzled by my question. Then he shakes his head.

"It's not a place I've ever heard of." He answers, genuinely confused. "Been reading those Capitol books, have you? "

"Ah. Yeah. A fantasy story I found." I respond, possibly too quickly to be believable.

"Well, I don't have much time for reading if you're suggesting books." Darius says, seemingly convinced by my cover up. "Maybe you could turn your talents to writing?"

I relax slightly. Darius is probably my favourite person at the moment, with his change of subject. Preventing me from putting my foot in my mouth again.

"It's never too late." I smile. Probably is actually, unless I can convince the Districts I wasn't showing the Capitol up and keep Omega hidden from Peacekeepers. I've heard a lot from Madge about the pressure of being the Mayor's daughter; wait till she hears about the pressures of trying to prevent civil war.

Darius smiles back, though genuinely. He never could recognise my nervous state.

"Anyway, just thought I'd come to say hello." Darius says, looking at his watch. "I'm supposed to be on duty in ten minutes, so I'll speak to you later hopefully."

"See you later 'funny looking man'." I reply as he begins to walk off through the stalls.

"Don't be a stranger!" He calls back, and he is gone, leaving me with my thoughts.

Now that my company is gone, I feel out of place. Like being a Victor and an unintentional symbol for a rebellion really has made me stranger. It's something I have to fix on the Victory Tour, because it's either the Capitol falls or we all die if it becomes a battle. Apparently I'm a threat to both sides.

Speaking of threats to forced peace, Omega is sat in my home, and he has not been told about the dangers to him if he goes out dressed in his violet shirt. Thankfully, my mother has gone to find materials to both fix it, and hide its bright, Capitol colour. In the meantime, he's going to need District Twelve clothes, because he's certainly not going to wear my father's old pyjamas until his are clean and fixed.

So I trade two rabbits for a set of old clothes from a woman who gives me a questioning stare.

"For hunting." I say calmly, hoping she'll buy my explanation.

She does, and so I hike through the snow back to the Victor's Village with clothes for the first man to live under our roof since my father died. It's slightly haunting since my father should be with us, not buried in pieces until miles of rock. He never got to see me come home from the games. Never got to see his family with full stomachs. Never got to learn there were people living in other countries.

I sigh. It seems most of my thoughts are brought back to Omega today. The sooner he's healthy, the sooner we can figure out where to send him.

As I pass Peeta's house, I look through his front window, reminding myself to speak to him later. Peeking through his curtains, I see him painting another canvas. Sometimes it cakes, like the one he sent over for Prim's birthday. But as I turn away, I hear something unfamiliar in this part of the District.

Music.

There's the noise of a guitar drifting from Peeta Mellark's house, despite the fact I have just seen him, and can still see him, standing at his easel. Unless paint is now musical, there is obviously someone else in his house.

This shouldn't bother me, but it does strike me as odd that he has a visitor, and that they can play guitar.

Since before the Dark Days, the guitar has been a bit of a lost art in this District, if not all of them. Sure, we still have violin and piano, but very few can afford the instruments and the time to learn how to play.

Once again ignoring Gale's lecture of Curiosity killed the Cat (which has been disproven through Buttercup) I turn back to walk to Peeta's front door.

He must have seen me coming, because the door is open before I reach it and his face is there to greet me. Still looking hurt by what I had said, he refuses to make eye contact, instead looking at my extra package with a puzzled expression.

"Hello." He says, while whoever is in his house continues to play the guitar.

"Hi Peeta." I reply.

The music suddenly stops, and the sound of someone stomping clumsily over replaces it.

"Who was playing that music?" I ask, before I realise I wasted breathe.

Popping into view behind Peeta, Omega smiles as he sees me and continues banging his cane as he comes to the door.

"Katniss!" he practically shouts in his weird accent, making me feel nervous about who heard him. "The girl who shot my leg!"

He hugs me with his free arm, adding to my lack of comfort with the situation. Kissing my cheek does nothing to improve the moment, but when both he and Peeta laugh at what must a bemused and frightened look on my face, I see something is up.

"I told you she would make that look." Peeta chokes out, before pulling us both inside.

"At least now I know I can trust you, which is more than most people can say about me." Omega says back, moving back through to the front room and picking up the guitar.

I stand in the doorway, confused by what just happened.

"So you two have become acquainted." I comment, as Peeta picks up his brush again and continues painting.

"He came over here about four hours ago, annoyed me for two of them, but we got along eventually." Peeta's first full sentence to me in months, and there isn't a trace of the cold distance that has been between us in that time.

"We've compared injuries, struggles and love for art." Omega adds. "But my favourite subject has been how to make you uncomfortable."

It worries me how I've been a topic of conversation, but it scares me to think of what will happen if Omega was seen walking over here. It's an unlikely event, given the lack of people living in the village and how the residents are all friends of mine.

"Well I'm glad you've had fun." I say sarcastically, before throwing Omega the package with his new clothes in it. "Meanwhile, I've been trying to find ways to hide you from the Peacekeepers."

Omega looks up from the package, puzzled by my words.

"Peacekeeper?" He asks, taking out the worn, grey shirt.

His ignorance of Panem is astounding to me before I realise how little human contact he's had over the last few weeks.

"Law enforcers." I explain. "They're worse in other Districts, but they won't ignore the clothes you came here in or your accent, so you need to work on both if you want us to avoid execution."

He seems to become more disturbed with every word I say, and looks frightened when 'execution' was used. Maybe it's worse back in his country.

"Peeta told me about your justice system." Omega nods in his direction. Peeta's been paying most of his attention to his canvas since we started talking. "So I'll do as you say. I owe you my life after all."

He decides to stand up and make an extravagant gesture with his hands before bowing in front of me.

"I am your humble servant." He finishes, returning to his full height where Peeta only just reaches his ear.

I'm a little surprised at this display, and I'm not sure whether to take him seriously or not. He just looks at me expectantly, waiting for a response.

"Cake?" Peeta says behind me.

I hadn't noticed him sneak into his kitchen and back again, now with a large chocolate cake in hand. He smiles slightly as he offers it to me, and I wonder if it's another device to make me uncomfortable.

"No thanks." I say kindly, though it's obvious he can hear the distrust in my voice. His eyes flicker down to the cake before moving on to Omega, who cuts quite a large slice.

"I haven't had chocolate in months." He comments, maybe trying to hint to some of the conditions in Braytaan.

I add finding out about his home to my mental checklist. For now, I want to set things straight with Peeta and warn him about the rebellion threat.

"Omega, could you give Peeta and I a few minutes." I timidly ask, as they both turn to face me.

"Of course." He answers, picking up the package. "I may go and try these on, see how they fit me."

There's more banging from his cane as he goes to the upstairs bathroom, leaving me alone with the Boy with the Bread. I look at him, making eye contact properly this time as he stares back worriedly. Panic must be etched into my face.

"Katniss, what's wrong?" He says gently, putting me at ease slightly.

All the worry and fear of Snow's promise comes to the surface now that I face Peeta. It's up to us, probably him more than me, to fix a problem I started with those berries.

"We're screwed if the Victory Tour doesn't go right." I begin simply.

**Sorry! Probably a boring chapter, but it's taken me a while. With exams and everything coming up, I haven't had much time to write and probably won't until after June. Thank you to everyone who has read these first few chapters and reviews would be appreciated. Any suggestions to the plot or writing style are welcome. More soon, I promise.**


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